


Gems flow in her bloodstream

by Rinusagitora



Category: Bleach
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating, F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Trans Karin Kurosaki, cinema, fuck this is sugary, movie industry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinusagitora/pseuds/Rinusagitora
Summary: Toushirou, famous novelist, is having his latest and most popular horror trilogy adapted into a movie. Unfortunately, the lead lady is hot.





	1. A crescendo in silence

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for gloomyplum on tumblr.

His eyes peeled open, jostled from his slumber, to Rangiku as she smoothed her blonde hair. “Nap’s over, Hitsugaya-kun. We just landed.”  


“Motherfucker.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “These flights are gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“That’d be a lame way to kick the bucket. Your novels portray such artistic deaths. Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to die of jet lag?” she teased.

“Hence my complaining.” He popped his neck. “Do you think my sister will forgive me if we detour for some fucking coffee? I may die otherwise.”

“She has a press at home, doesn’t she?”

“She _had_ one of those coffee bars-- two, in fact. Both defective in the space of a year. She just goes to the Starbucks by her place now.”

“Send her a text, then. You have manners.”

“Yes, _mom,_ ” he snort as he switched his phone off airplane mode. “It’s a quadruple shot night, though. I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Maybe for you. I’m going home to my girlfriend and sleeping for the first time ever, so you’re gonna have to catch a cab. As much as I love you, I miss my girl.”

“That’s fine. Tell Ise I say hello and look forward to seeing her once we start filming.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Will do, Hitsugaya-kun. See you in the morning.” Rangiku grabbed his elbow and kissed his cheeks, ever affectionate. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She had been his publishing agent for so long she was almost his friend. What was once an annoying gesture made him smile even as exhausted and overall standoffish as he was. 

“Get some sleep, Matsumoto,” he told her.

He dragged his luggage behind him and hailed a cab from the entrance. It was only four o’clock in Shibuya, but he swore it was four in the morning. His tour in the Americas fucked over his circadian clock. He, ever a creature of habit, took days to adapt to a new routine, even if it was a return to a year’s-old routine.

In the backseat of a cab with his luggage in the seat beside him, he sighed. “The Kamiyo high rise apartments,” he told the driver. 

“Fancy,” the driver replied. “Are you from Shibuya?”

“I live here, if that’s what you mean. I moved to be closer to my sister and work. She owns the Hisagi Gothic Art Gallery with her husband.”

“Oh, hey, you wrote that Haruka trilogy, didn’t you? I knew I recognized you. My wife raves about those books. All that gore makes me kinda queasy, though.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the point. I love writing nasty stuff.”

“She adores the ghost chick too. My wife normally only likes male characters, but she tells me Haruka was captivating. Congratulations on your movie, by the way. I watched Funeral Home and it was fantastic. I’d love to read it if I didn’t work so much. Got a baby on the way, you know.”

His heart slammed like an emergency brake in his chest. “Congratulations,” he said. 

“Shit, my wife is gonna dig this when I tell her, though. She loves your books.”

He smiled. Hearing from his fans in an everyday setting was one of his favorite parts of being a writer. He wasn’t so popular he was swarmed when he was just out and about, but he was recognized just around in coffee shops and bookstores. He didn’t mind so long as he wasn’t bugged at the grocer’s or the mall. 

With his fare paid, he walked inside and rang his sister’s suite from the ground floor. He was soon welcomed into an elevator and then his sister’s spacious suite.

Momo giggled, her lips pulled into a wide, ruby-colored smile as she jogged over to him barefoot and wrapped him in a hug.

“Welcome,” Momo cooed with a squeeze to his neck. He rubbed his hand over her chiffon top and kissed her cheek like Rangiku kissed him. “It’s good to see you again. I missed you so.”

“Hey,” Shuuhei cheered from their kitchen.

“You’re all looking splendid,” he told them, shoes and bag left in the genkan. “I come with gifts! Do you guys want them now or after we do some catching up?”

“After dinner. I want to hear all about your time in the States.” Momo pulled him onto the couched and curled her dress and her legs under her. 

His sister so easily made him smile, however exhausted he may be. “My god, it was eventful,” he told her. “My English is still shit and I hate road trips, but I got to see a couple of art galleries in New York and a gothic-inspired independent fashion show in Los Angeles which was superb. I got to try a lot of good food. There’s nothing more to say other than Kyouraku driving his assistant up a wall.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.” She reached into her clutch on the table and pulled out a cigarette. “Tell me about the places you ate at.”

He laughed. “Well, it was either diners or Michelin star establishments where I had to wear a fucking suit and tie. I really liked this one diner outside of Orlando, Florida. It was towards the end of the tour and I was fucking beat. Their cheeseburgers and milkshakes were to die for. So juicy, so cheesy. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.”

“And those art galleries?”

“I saw one in Houston, another in Seattle, and the final one in DC. None of them were gothic or otherwise related to horror. My favorite was the abstract gallery in Seattle. The artists featured expertly demonstrated feelings and events through color and shape. There was this installation where there were these glow in the dark strings in this dark hallway. I think it was meant to express the feeling of MDMA at a rave, or something. I loved it.”

Momo cackled. “Oh god. It sounds like you had fun. What was the fashion show like?”

“Fantastic! I sat next to Marilyn Manson. We talked a little before the show began. Apparently, he’s read my novels and had wonderful insights on Bear Claw. My English is shit but he was understanding and promised I was understandable.”

“Marilyn Manson?” 

“He’s a popular metal musician in the United States. It’s atmospheric and angry. I adore it. I listened to his newest album while writing the Haruka trilogy.”

Momo hummed. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Here you guys go.” Shuuhei deposited three plates on the table they surrounded. Steam wafted up to his nose, sausage and potatoes and oregano. He grinned. 

“It smells amazing. Thanks Shuuhei.”

His brother-in-law winked with a click of his tongue. “No trouble. It’s great you have you back, Toushirou. It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not in Shibuya.” Shuuhei kissed Momo’s cheek. “How’s that new book going, by the way? I saw an outline pulled up on your laptop the last time we were over.”

He laughed. “Pretty good. I’m finished world-building for now, I’m working on the cast now. More ghosts, more grunge, violence galore.”

“Look at you, corrupting our children with your books.” Shuuhei and he laughed.

“By the way, how’s your book going?” he asked.

“Oh god. I’m either writing at lightning speed or distracted by my wife,” he answered. “I’ve been researching interrogation approaches so that’s a bit of a speed bump. Can’t read and write at the same time, after all. Nonetheless, progress is progress, as Rangiku-san tells me.”

“Don’t you have researchers to help you out with that?”

“Technically. I’ve always preferred doing things myself, however. I was always taught to do as much as I can and then ask for help when there’s nothing more.”

“I suppose you’re right. Progress is progress either way. That’s the most important thing to remember, especially about writing. Research, writing, working with the publishing company, et cetera. Matsumoto tells me that it’s like a circle filling in at stages rather than a linear progression. She’s wise that way.”

“Rangiku-san is wise in many ways,” Momo smiled. “She’s good to us, especially you, ‘Shirou-chan. I hope you treat her well.”

“I try. She likes making her life difficult, I think, since she’s so opposed to actually doing her job.”

Momo and Shuuhei snort in unison. “Yeah,” Momo replied, “that sounds like our Rangiku-san. But you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he smiled.

He sighed, plate finished, and then stood. “Enough chat. I have gifts! Let me fetch my bag.”

Momo’s sigh followed him to the genkan. He hooked his arm through his rolling luggage, not brave enough to risk Momo’s anger for ruining her flooring. Shuuhei had cleared their plates and he set his bag down. Moments later, he presented Momo a velvet box.

“To start off, for my lovely sister.” He opened the box to a jeweled collar, the color of Momo’s eyes, chocolate diamonds draped with milky pearls. “I thought of you the second I saw this.”

Momo’s eyes bugged out of her skull. “Holy shit….” Gingerly, she lifted the collar out of the box. Shuuhei clasped it behind her. “Toushirou, it’s gorgeous. How did you ever get your hands on this?”

“I have an internationally bestselling trilogy and movie deals. I’m loaded,” he answered.

“Shit,” Momo chuckled, “you spoil me and I don’t ever have anything for you.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re my sister. You’re the most beloved person in my life since our grandmother’s passing, I don’t mind giving you nice things. Anyways.” He presented Shuuhei a pair of silver guitar-shaped sleeve cuffs. “For you, my friend.”

“These are nice.” Shuuhei pulled his wrist cuffs to his eyes. “Damn, look at the detail. My publishers are gonna dig these. Thanks so much.” 

“No problem at all.”

“Now then,” Momo laughed, “I adore these gifts and I’m sure Shuu does too. I want to hear about your movie deals, though.”

“Obviously, the one for my second book is finished-- thank god. I had to fight tooth and nail for the studio to keep the details and plot to the book. I’m not exactly optimistic about my trilogy’s film adaptation, however. The studio still doesn’t seem to trust my judgement despite my prolificness as a writer. I’m grateful to have Kyouraku directing again, since he’s more open to keeping to my story rather than shooting off with his own, but the company is a pain in the ass.”

“I hope they stick to the book. You’re a very talented writer. You know what you’re doing.”

“Alright,” He slid out of his chair and hugged Momo. “I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks again for the food, it was delicious.”

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, now.”

“Of course.”

He called another cab outside. It was silent his ride home. Tours always took a lot out of him, but with the excitement of seeing Momo fading, he was beat. He longed for his plush mattress, his satin sheets, the smell of home.

He sighed as he flipped on the light. He dropped his luggage on the couch, he’d take care of it sometime the next day. He undressed and turned on soft violin music and laid beneath his blankets.

His suite was very open. In terms of music, the acoustics were fantastic. He could turn on the speakers in his kitchen and he could hear it in his room. In the enclosure of his room, the very air seemed to reverberate with melody. His heart felt like the strings the bow slid over.

It crushed his chest like stones.

His home was empty like he. He adored Momo, but they only had so much social energy. Dating took effort he didn’t have the time for. He could barely take care of himself, let alone a pet. He was alone. Even with Momo divorced from Sousuke for years and back in his life, even with Rangiku, he was alone. Ever doomed to be stuck with fame and money and the sound of his keyboard and violins, never to be completed by someone wrapped in his arms.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at his stucco ceiling. The hollowness of himself and his home made him ache.


	2. Enchantment of the raven woman

With a groan, he threw off his blankets and walked to his dresser to silence his blaring alarm. 

Numbness overcame him the nights after his breakdowns. Not like the hollowness that engulfed him those lonely evenings, like an anesthetic was pumped into his veins, like it overcame every nook and cranny of his body. He blinked and he was in a different part of his apartment-- watching himself brush his teeth in the mirror, pulling a waistcoat over his shoulders, watching his Mr. Coffee brew his morning cup.

Gorgeous as always, Rangiku came through the door with a smile. Her impeccable appearance sometimes made him envious. It took ages to tease his hair into something presentable.

“Hitsugayaaa,” she cooed, “are we almost ready?”

“I want to finish my coffee, but we don’t always get what we want,” he replied as he fetched a thermos from his cabinet. “Those auditions start damn early. We should get going.”

“There are files for the auditioners in the glovebox. Nanao thought you’d want to review them before the auditions themselves, I just forgot to give them to you last night.”

He could have read those instead of just sitting in the plane, bored into slumber….

He frowned. “Half of these don’t even have Haruka’s hair color.” Her appearance was integral, and yet most of them were blonde and golden-skinned.

“I ought to scold you for that, but you’re right! An auditioner should at share some resemblance to the character they want to play. I suppose there’s hair dye, but Haruka is pretty fair. It’ll be hard for a makeup crew to lighten her up.”

They sighed together. Auditioning always ended up on his list of things he hated about the movie industry. There were always people looking to get famous. It was harder and harder to find actors who viewed cinema as art form rather than a popularity contest or some kind of get rich quick scheme. It was a shame, really, for the industry to be so inundated by poor actors that the real talent didn’t stand a chance.

“It’s gonna be a long day,” he said, “can you pick up lunch around eleven? I want burritos.”

“Should I fetch a latte for you too?”

"Please. I’ll need it.”

“You can count of me!”

They parked, followed him inside, and parted by the cubicles. The audition room was small and cube-shaped a chair against a grey backdrop and a table for himself, the director, producers, and what have it to sit at.

“Morning, Kyouraku,” he greeted the director. They had known each other for a number of years. Shunsui Kyouraku having directed the movie adaptation of his second book Funeral Home. Shunsui had his flaws, but above all else, Shunsui had proven faithfulness to original material in all the movie adaptation he directed, and there wasn’t much else he cared for. 

“You’re too chipper for this hour,” Shunsui yawned. “It’s too damn early for these auditions. God, I hate these things. Thirty just today, another forty tomorrow. We’re gonna die at this rate.”

“Perhaps not. On my way here, I was brainstorming preliminary questions. Perhaps it’s unfair, but if they don’t pass the preliminary questions, we can just boot them instead of wasting time on their monologue.”

Shunsui hummed. “How about not,” he replied. “I understand you’re protective over your work, Hitsugaya-kun, but we have to give everyone the same chance or PR will be on my ass.”

He sighed. “Understandable. Are we just waiting for Ichimaru, then?”

“That we are. He woke up a little late, so he had to catch a later train. He’ll only be another ten minutes, at most.”

“Good,” he replied.

“Not really,” Shunsui said, “Ichimaru-kun is already on thin ice as it is. Anymore marks against him and he’s booted from the agency. I don’t really like that guy, but as a producer, he’s prime.”

He laughed. “I-I guess,” he responded nervously. He never liked Gin Ichimaru. That man gave him the heebie jeebies….

There was coffee placed before him in the meantime. Gin was far less important than the sanity Nanao’s brews imbued him with. He would need as much energy as he could with those upcoming auditions.

Gin finally arrived. Shunsui turned to his assistant Nanao by the door. “Bring in the first lady!”

Thus, they began. There were handful of auditioners he took note of, but none in the four hours before lunch stood out as a worthy actress of Haruka. He sat with Rangiku during lunch in the lounge to lament with her.

“It’s a pity,” she said, “so many pretty girls yet none of them can grasp Haruka. I’d hate if you have to settle. She’s so stunning, she deserves the best!” Rangiku pulled down the paper encasing her burrito. “Have you talked to Kyouraku-san about it?”

“Not yet. Watching his reactions though, he was equally unimpressed. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow after we finish with these auditions.”

“Damn… I don’t envy you, that’s for sure.”

He combed his fingers through his hair. They couldn’t have some B-grade actress play Haruka, not with such high expectations for her character. Perhaps his standards were too high though. If only his first choice actress, Retsu Unohana, hadn’t declined. Just a little bit of airbrushing in the chair and those crows feet would disappear. Any of the girls they had seen would fucking kill for Retsu’s talent.

“Just have patience. See every girl, hopefully find someone truly exceptional. You’ve breathed life into Haruka and she deserves the best we can get our hands on.”

He nodded. Reinvigorated, he finished his lunch, and returned to the audition room.

“Are you ready?” Shunsui asked.

“Let’s get this started.”

First came the clap of heels against linoleum, then the tail of hair as black as raven wings. Time froze as he watched her walk past them. She was short like he but strode like she was titanic, with a straight back and easy, plum smile. Her legs crossed in opaque leggings as she sat and stared back at them with star-colored eyes

“My name is Karin Kurosaki. I’m twenty-four years old and I’m a transwoman.”

Stunned silence settled over them like a thick blanket. Karin smiled wide and burst into laughter. Never before had someone just come and told him or a group something like that so candidly. How were they supposed to respond? What was he supposed to say? 

“Oh, that’s always rewarding!” Her laughter was melodic, nonetheless. “Alright, pick your jaws up. Let’s get this started.”

“O-of course,” he cleared his throat. “What is your experience in the movie industry?”

“I was an extra in a couple of independently made movies. I played a prostitute in Kill Siren, a nautical period drama, where I was eaten by a sea monster, and then I played a laborer in this steampunk film Gear who was crushed beneath a falling building.”

“So you have a lot of experience portraying death?”

“Absolutely,” Karin answered. She combed back her hair to reveal a C-shaped scar on her scalp. “I was jumped when I started wearing dresses in junior high. I got the same taste of terror Haruka did. Naturally I related to her because of the pretty senseless violence we’ve faced.”

“How did you get started in the industry?”

“I knew a guy who knew a guy. My brother Ichigo Kurosaki introduced me to musicians Shinji Hirako and Roujuurou Outoribashi. I started out as a feature in their music videos before I started acting. I heard about this role and decided to give it a shot.”

“Alright,” he said, “go on and show us your monologue.”

Karin turned in her chair and pulled a prop skull from her bag. “Toyami-kun,” she mumured as she pet it with her knuckles, “you know how paper cuts sting? Being torn apart burns.” She turned towards them, twitching. “It sears as they rake through your flesh, like they’ve dropped you on a campfire. It radiates from the cut throughout your entire body. You topple like you weigh tons and then it goes black and cold, creeping like winter. You know you’re dying, and the slumber feels like release.” Eyes wide, blood dribbled down her cheek. “Don’t ever lecture me again. You work with the dead but you know nothing about the agony I was forced to suffer.”

They had seen that played over and over, being Haruka’s most emotional scenes, but Karin gave it such an oppressive, angry emotion over the grief the other talented actresses showed them. It sent shivers down his spine!

“That is all. Thank you.”

Karin stood with a smile, her skull hugged beneath her chest, bowed, and exited.

There came more after Karin. Their acting was so pale in comparison. Karin gripped the skull with rage, the rest stroked it sadly. How was Haruka’s anger not apparent to them?

He knew, then, Karin was perfect for Haruka’s part.

Auditions for that day ended finally. Before he realized what was happening, he was roped into drinking with the other project leaders.

“‘Ey, Hitsugaya-kun,” Gin wrapped their arm around his shoulders, “who’re you leaning to?”

“Hitsugaya-san, please,” he said. “I liked the Kurosaki girl. The one who brought the skull prop.”

Gin’s permagrin fell. “ _That_ fag of all people? We’re gonna get reemed a new asshole by the press if we cast her.”

He set down his sake cup. Though stone-faced, he wondered, with hot blood, if he could get away with socking Gin. Gin was assholish always, obnoxious on good days and a fucking nightmare on bad. He remembered in the shooting of his first movie adaptation. Gin was just promoted and it seemed to have gone to his head. He frequently verbally abusive to the lady assistants, and he was ragingly homophobic on top of it all. Rangiku had to file a restraining order the year prior because of all the flaming texts Gin sent her after she turned down a date proposal from him. How Gin still had a job was beyond him.

He pried off Gin’s arm. “If anyone is actually offended by Kurosaki’s gender instead of murder, they need to take a good, long look at their priorities.”

Gin folded his arms. “It’s too political to have Kurosaki-chan play her. It’ll detract from Haruka’s character.”

“I agree with Ichimaru,” Sui Feng chimed in. “There’s nothing progressive about your book. Casting her will distract from the point of the story itself.”

“No it won’t,” he snort. “Kurosaki understood Haruka’s character far better than any other girl we saw today, and far better than any other girl we’ll see. We’ll only be shooting ourselves in the foot if we cast any other girl.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause a man wearing a skirt knows anything about how a woman feels.” Sui Feng snort.

“That girl is not a man. For a lesbian, you’re sure not treating your fellow LGBT folk well. You told me yourself community solidarity is the only way to obtain widespread respect,” he barked. “You guys have nothing on Kurosaki but her gender and that’s pretty fucking telling about her talent.”

“Alright,” Shunsui clapped to call their attention. “That’s enough you guys. How about we take a vote after we finish auditions tomorrow?”

He swirled his sake in his cup with a sour frown. Old people were the worst.

Finally, he sighed and gathered up his phone and his wallet on the tabletop. “I’m headed home. You guys have safe trips home,” he said.

“You too, Hitsugaya-kun,” Shunsui told him with a toast.

He wished movie-making was like writing-- less political, dedicated to the art rather than profits. Some publishing companies weren’t as kind, but for the most part so long as they made money most publishers didn’t seem to care much to police content. The same couldn’t be said for the film industry. So much talent slipped through the cracks with the concern the movie industry had for image.

Finally home, he sighed, and then changed into more comfortable apparel. His apartment was chilly, he fond of cooler temperatures. It made him alert and sharper, even when his chest and arms raised with goosebumps.

Even in the hollowness of his home, he was too angry for that emptiness to reach him with any poignancy. He was too angry to even write.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand with Momo’s picture. Gladly, he picked it up.

“I’m so glad I can talk to someone sane today.”

His sister laughed sympathetically. “ _Hello to you too,_ ” she said. “ _I’m sorry to hear that, though. Was your day that shitty?_ ”

“You have no idea.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “You’d expect I’d know talent when I see it, but apparently my team thinks I’m a fucking moron for deciding to cast a transwoman."

“ _Wow, that does suck. Maybe you could threaten to go indie. If that’s their only issue, they know the movie adaption will make them a ton of money and they don’t want to lose that._ ”

“Momo, that’s diabolical.” Nonetheless, he chuckled. “I wish it was that simple. I would go indie if I could. There are a lot of benefits going through a studio, though.”

She hummed. “ _I wish I could do something to help, ‘Shirou._ ”

“It’s okay,” he assured his sister. “I’m sure I’ll find something to convince these guys by the time we gather a full cast.”

“ _I hope so too. You worked so hard on the Haruka trilogy. It’d be a downright embarrassment if they cast some B-grade actress over your pick._ ”

“Anyways,” he grumbled, “how’s it going on your end?”

“ _Just finished catching up on bills for the gallery. I love the tax exemptions for charity events, but catering was a bitch. Three grand for a shitty dinner for sixty people, like fuck me sideways. I left a nasty Google review solely for the price-quality ratio._ ” Momo sighed over the receiver. “ _I’m just glad it’s over with. I hate these high-society events. Always so snooty. They remind me of Sousuke and I have to physically refrain from jumping down their throats._ ”

He laughed. “You could probably fit too.”

“ _Don’t encourage me,_ ” Momo snort. “ _I should let you go to bed, though. I just wanted to check up on you. I missed you lots, you know._ ”

“I do,” he smiled. “Love you, sis. Good night. Get some sleep.”

“ _You too._ ”


End file.
